


Now My Eyes Is Finally Open

by Awkwardkilljoy



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Backstory, Canon Era, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2018-12-29 20:45:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12093078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Awkwardkilljoy/pseuds/Awkwardkilljoy





	1. Overture

Brooklyn is a big city, always hectic, always very much alive. Its streets are full of people from just about everywhere. Never had his city seemed bigger to Sean Conlon than during the last days of summer of 1890.

The streets are buzzing with life, the air heavy and warm making it harder to breathe than it already was amidst the crowd. An eight-year- old boy pushes his way through the sea of adults on their way home after a long day of work, his feet are sore and his breaths become more ragged by the minute. He keeps going until the Brooklyn Bridge comes into view after a few more shoves and pushing through.

He stops once he reaches the bridge, he has no idea of where he is going, no idea where he is meant to be. In his head, his mother’s limp body and her tears of agony play repeatedly, she had told him to leave, to run and her tearful begging was the only thing giving him reasons to keep running. So, he did, but New York is huge and he is just a tiny and scrawny boy with no idea of where his feet are leading him and his mind is running on autopilot. And he is scared and lost and alone. He can’t leave Brooklyn, this is the only place he knows, the place that has been his home since he can remember, leaving would mean leaving behind his life.

He struggles to even his breathing, the sun is beginning to set in the horizon, illuminating the streets and buildings with a warm and golden glow, soon the sun will leave him too and he has nowhere to stay the night nor any food to eat and the moon is not as warm and his belly starts to ache, but he’ll have to make do.

He looks around, slowly he starts to walk towards a building that looms over him and is only a few blocks away. The night is warm so sleeping outside shouldn’t be much of a problem. The front steps lead to a big wooden door, he sits down on the first steps and finally exhaustion hits him. His feet hurt and are probably blistered, the muscles in his legs ache and burn from exertion and his lungs wheeze with every breath. He doesn’t know why he’s running, he just felt like he needed to get away, as far away as he could.

He is running away from his sick mother, who is probably dead by now, from his runaway father who never cared enough to even show face, from the awful place he’ll have to go to if they find out he is now an orphan, from the beatings he had to take from his grandfather while his mother worked.

He rests his head against the railing and watches as the sun finally disappears and the stars begin to shine, he listens to the sounds of his city, so big and alive. So unlike him.

That night, eight-year- old Sean Conlon feels like he has never been smaller and the city is so big it seems to swallow him whole.

...

“Hiya, kid” Something pokes him in the ribs. “Kid, you’s gonna want to leave soon, before the fellas inside see ya.”

He opens his eyes slowly, the sun is only just starting to come up, illuminating the city with a soft light, it makes it look so nice and welcoming, so warm and beautiful. Sean knows better, for this city drains you out, you’ve got to be a fighter to survive. Life has taught him a lesson, only the strong ones survive.

The boy in front of him is a few years older, some facial hairs are starting to grow on his chin, Sean looks at him, still half asleep and very disoriented, the boy is still saying something but Spot is yawning and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“Fine, do what ya’ like.” With one last poke with the tip his shoe to Sean’s ribs the other boy walks down the street.

Sean sits up, his body is stiff from the hard concrete he had spent the night laying on, he stands and stares at the boy as he leaves. Sean considers going after him, he is not used to being on the streets and the boy’s confident yet quick stride as he walks down the street, along with his tattered clothing and dirty self are clear signs that the streets are his home.

“Hey, hey Badger, wait up.”; He hears a voice from behind him. “Fox said I’s supposed to sell with ya.” Badger’s pace quickens.

Sean is standing in the middle of the sidewalk when someone slams onto his back with a curse. He is knocked forward and lands on his knees.

“You should be more careful.” The stronger boy helps him up, holding out his hand and grabbing his elbow to offer some support. He has a wide grin on his face.

“What’s so funny?” Sean asks frowning and crossing his arms above his chest, getting defensive at the boy’s mocking grin.

“You’s not used to being in da streets are you?” Sean’s frown deepens and the only answer he gives the kid is a shrug.

Sean grumbles and turns away, not happy with the way the other boy is talking to him. He is scared, but he will not let this kid mock him for it.

“Hey, sorry.” A hand on his shoulder keeps him from getting away. “My name’s Anthony. What’s yours?” Sean doesn’t answer but turns to look at the taller boy with a raised eyebrow.

The kid looks behind him, there’s no sign of Badger, the older boy had turned a corner and disappeared from view. He digs into his pocket and takes out a cigarette.

“How old are you?” He asks putting the cigarette between his lips. Sean just stares at him, still not answering, he rolls his eyes. “Look kid, fall is a few weeks away, so unless you wanna freeze I’d say you’s gonna need a place to stay. I can help you find one, but you’s got to work with me. I don’t care about your name, but I’s got to know your age.”

Sean sizes him up, it’s hard to tell why or how, but he kind of trusts this kid. Still, he has got to be a little more careful now that he’s on the streets. But, he is right he is not going to survive through fall and then winter while on the streets.

“Eight.” He says quietly, just as the other boy seems to give up. His head snaps up with a wide smile.

“Eight, that’s good, it should get the other fellas off my back now that there’ll be a new, younger one of us.” He looks back to where Badger had been before. “My name’s Anthony.” He says again with a smile, hoping to get the other kid to tell him his name. No luck, Sean just gives him a small nod and fixes his eyes on the ground.

“I know, you’ve said it already.”

“C’mon, we still got time to sell some papes.” He starts walking the way Badger had disappeared minutes ago. Sean watches him, not moving from his place in the sidewalk. Anthony walks with confidence, like he owns the streets, like he’s king of the city.

Sean follows him.

…

The rest of the day goes by quickly, both boys sell newspapers together. Anthony teaches Sean the tricks and tips he had learned during the year he has spent with the Brooklyn newsies.

Sean learns that Anthony is a talker, whenever he is not shouting out the headlines he is telling Sean a story or trying to get him to talk. He learns that people who are in a rush don’t care about news when he is pushed by an old man after standing in his way trying to sell him a newspaper. He learns that Anthony is too long and decides that Tony suits him better anyways. He learns that people are more likely to buy papers from poor and sad orphans than from angry little boys.

Tony learns that the kid is an observer, he scans the crowd for people who might be interested in buying before approaching them. He learns that he’s got a temper when he sees him stand up and glare at the man who had just pushed him to the ground. He also learns that he likes dogs when he sees him smile as he scratches the ears of a small mongrel. He learns that the boy is a great actor when he sees him put on a pout and approach a young lady with sad eyes.

Both boys learn what it feels like to not feel alone.

..

When they finish selling Anthony starts walking towards the lodging house.

They buy a sandwich from a diner and split it up while they walk. Tony explains the system the Brooklyn newsies follow and Sean listens and nods along, but is too distracted by the feeling of his stomach finally filling up after a day of being completely empty to even answer.

“Fox is the king here, you’s gonna hafta talk to him before staying with us.” Anthony says as they reach the building, food still in his mouth as he speaks.

Teenage boys and girls are spread out in small groups, the younger kids run around playing and some sit in the stairs that lead up to the four-story building, playing cards. Tony starts walking towards them.

“Badger.” He says to one of the boys, Sean recognises him as the one who had woken him up that morning.

“Tony.” He answers, barely looking up from his cards.

“I brought a new kid.” Badger looks up from his cards.

“So?” He sighs and rolls his eyes, but stands up. “Where’s he?” He asks looking around. Sean hadn’t moved from his place just before the building, several feet away from the other boys.

“That one?” He asks turning back to Tony and pointing towards the place where Sean stood glaring at the tall building before him. He recognises the head of blonde hair.

“Yeah, I found him by-“

“The Bridge, I know I saw him too.” Badger lays down his cards and grins, the other boys groan and hand over a few pennies and a couple of cigars. “I’ll take him to Fox.” He says standing up and walking towards Sean.

“Wait, I want to come.” Tony follows the older newsie. “I want him to sell with me.”

“You’s still selling with older fellas, until Fox says otherwise you still hafta.” Badger states matter-of- factly.

“I’ve been with you guys for almost a year, I already know how to sell papes on my own.” Tony states.

“Besides, today you left me on my own and I got through without you just fine. I don’t think our King would be very happy to know you disobeyed an order, though.” Tony says with a smug smile as Badger’s eyes widen. “I’m also a month away from turning ten, you were nine when you started selling alone.”

“Fine, whatever. Come with us, but keep your mouth shut about today or I’ll soak you.” Badger says, his voice is serious, but he is smiling and moves to ruffle Tony’s hair, the shorter boy grins and follows him to the door of the lodging house.

“What’s his name?” Badger asks.

“I don’t know, he didn’t say anything all day except that he is eight.” Tony points out. “Hey!” He tries calling, but Sean doesn’t turn around. “New Kid!” He tries again and now Sean seems to snap back to reality. He turns to see the older boys standing before the door, Badger signals him to come closer and he does.

“Hey, kid. I’m Badger.” He spits on his hand and holds it out, Sean stares at it and then looks up at the older boy with a raised eyebrow. “Okay… Um. Well, we’s gotta get ya a bed for the night, but Fox’s got to know you’re here. So, come on.” He wipes his hand on his trousers and then turns and walks into the building with Tony following close behind him.

Sean steps inside and finds more boys and a few girls inside, all chatting or playing happily.

“So, you’s got a name, kid?” Badger asks as they walk up to where a desk with a middle-aged man sits. Sean’s silence is unwavering and Tony gives Badger a look.

“Hey, Mitchel. Is Fox here?” The oldest of the boys asks the man once they reach him. The man looks up and stares at them through a pair of spectacles, he has a kind face with soft and warm eyes and the sides of his head are starting to whiten.

“Upstairs with Risker. You bringing in a new kid, huh?” He asks the obvious as he looks directly at Sean with a small smile, Sean answers with a glare.

“Tony made a friend for the first time today.” Badger says with a smirk.

“Hey! I have friends!” The younger boy exclaims as he shoves his elder. “Anyways, can we get this over and done with? I’s got to get to poker before Dice gets everyone’s money.”

“Come on.” Badger starts making his way upstairs. “Thanks, old man.”

They go up a flight of stairs and find even more boys and girls inside. They seem to be everywhere around here. They walk through the bunk beds and reach the furthest wall in the room; a bed is slightly farther away from the others and two boys sit atop of it. One of them looks bored while the other one reads something out to him.

“Fox.” Badger calls once they are closer. The boy in question looks up and seems relieved now that the other one has stopped reading.

“Hiya, Badger. Tony.” He greets his newsies with a nod. “And who is this little fella?” Sean glares at him.

“Tony brought him in. I saw him earlier, sleeping outside an apartment complex.”

“You Brooklyn, kid?”

Sean looks at him questioningly, but nods, this boy has power and the way he stands makes it clear.

“Good, then you’s welcome here.” He says with a smile, he spits on his hand and holds it out to Sean, the boy does the same this time. “Go ask Mitchel to assign you a bed, you can sell with me tomorrow, then we´ll find someone you can sell with the rest of the time.”

Tony steps in then.

“I want him to sell with me, Fox. He’s my friend.” Fox turns to the younger newsie.

“You are still not selling alone, Tony. You can’t take another new kid with you, you are too young.”

Fox says.

“I am not too young, Fox. I’ve been with you guys for almost a year now, I can take care of myself” Tony states.

“You’s still young. You’ll keep selling with Badger until I say otherwise.” Fox says sternly.

“But, Badger, tell him.” Tony looks at the older newsie with big eyes.

Badger sighs.

“He is good, Fox. He’s been selling almost twice as much as me.”

Fox scans Tony and turns to the boy still sitting on the bed.

“Watcha think, Risker?”

“He can sell on his own.” Risker answers and Fox nods.

“He’s right. I’ll let you sell by yourself from now own.” Race grins and starts to open his mouth to say something, but is interrupted. “But your friend here will sell with Badger, you can sell on your own but you ain’t old enough to have someone else under your care.”

“We’s a good team.” Sean speaks for the first time since they got to the lodging house. Tony grins.

“You’ll sell with Badger. No more questions. Now leave.”

Both boys spend the rest of the night outside, Tony wins a couple of poker games against the other kids and tries to teach Sean how to play. The younger boy glares at the cards in his hands whenever he is not happy with them and loses every game he plays as a result.

When the time for sleep comes, Sean asks if the bed next to Tony’s is available.

…

Life was good for Sean, he had a bed, enough food to not starve to death and he had found something almost like friendship In Tony, he didn’t really know what to call it, he had never had a friend before, but he trusts Tony, he cares for him. They sell together against Fox’s orders, Sean would leave with Badger a few minutes before Tony and they would meet at Sheepshead, where Badger would leave them in each other’s company and walk away to his own selling spot.

Their mornings are then spent yelling out the headlines and trying to pickpocket as many people as they can. Tony is exceptionally good at taking some extra pennies from men’s pockets and lady’s purses, Sean on the other hand uses his small size and babyface as much as he can and earns a few more pennies than usual out of pity.

Once they are done selling Tony stays and watches the races, betting on a different horse every time, he loses constantly and his pockets end up being half empty by the time they leave Sheepshead. Spot watches as his friend excitedly cheers for the horse he had bet his money on and laughs every time he loses, shaking his head and nudging Tony’s shoulder, assuring him that maybe tomorrow would be better.

They leave Sheepshead and head for the boarding house together.

…

Sean starts calling Tony “Racetrack” after one of their usual clients ran into them one day as they walked back home from a long day of work. Both boys were talking when, the man had called out for “Racetrack kid” and asked if he had any papers left to sell him. Tony had reacted immediately, stopping and turning towards the man, while Sean kept walking. Since then Tony became known as Racetrack to everyone in New York.

…

A week into their routine something comes up.

The sun is only just beginning to come up and the boys inside of the lodging house start to rise one by one, slowly getting ready for the long day ahead, tired bodies fill the room and start to make their way out. Sean is not amongst those. Badger turns towards the bed where the kid he’s supposed to be taking care of lays, he can see Racetrack looking down at him with a frown.

“Hey, Sean. It’s time to get up.” He says poking the boy through the covers. Sean just groans and buries his head under his pillow.

“He’s not well.” Race whispers under his breath.

“Racetrack! Badger! Come on fellas, you want to be in time to catch the morning edition.” Fox says, pulling up his suspenders as he comes up to the worried boys. “What’s wrong?”

He sees Sean still in bed. “Come on, kid! Gotta get selling.” Sean groans again. Fox rips the covers off him and he yelps and hugs his knees to his chest. Rolling his eyes, Fox moves to push him out of bed, but stops and frowns once he touches his skin.

“Woah, he’s burning up.” He says, he takes Sean by the shoulders and turns him over. The boy is flustered and his skin is coated in sweat. “Jeez, kid you’s gonna have to stay here. You’s sick as can be, I’ll get Risker to get you some ice to make you feel better. You ain’t selling today. Your buddy Race and I can sell a bit more and get you some food.”

Sean feels like hell, but he doesn’t feel like giving up the time he can spend with Race. So, he groans again and struggles against the oldest newsie, getting up on wobbly knees.

“I’se fine, I can go.” He says as he starts changing his shirt into the only other one he owns.

“Shit.” Fox says under his breath as Sean’s back becomes exposed. The boy turns to look at him with confusion, he can see the same confused look mirrored in Race’s eyes but it’s directed towards him.

“What are those spots, Sean?” He asks curious, he tries to move closer to his friend, but Fox’s strong hand on his shoulder stops him. Sean’s face pales and his eyes widen, his hand moves to his back and he gasps as he feels the small lumps that cover his skin.

“Badger, get Racer out of here. And find Risker, tell him to find a doc that does charity cases and bring him here, fast.” Fox’s voice is calm, but his eyes look troubled.

Sean is going to die, he knows it the moment he feels the spots on his skin. He’s going to die, just like his ma. The air will become too heavy for him to inhale and he will struggle to breathe in the shallowest of breaths, just like his ma. His skin will itch and he’ll scratch it until it bleeds. Food will no longer be appealing, but painful as it goes down his throat. He’s going to die, he knows he is.

He will die, and he will leave Race behind. The only friend he’s ever had. He’s going to leave Brooklyn, it’s streets and alleys, his home. He’s going to leave the newsies, his newfound family. Suddenly it’s getting harder to breathe.

Badger obeys his king, he nods and starts pulling the younger boy out of the room.

“Get offa me!” Race pushes the older boy away from him and rushes back to his friend.

“What’s wrong with him? I can help.”

“Leave, Race.” Sean says, Badger and Fox look at him.

“I won’t leave you, just because you’re sick. You’re my best friend.”

“I’m going to die.” The three boys in the room look at him with frowns.

“No, you’re not.” Race shoves him. “Ya ain’t dying because, because I says you ain’t.”

“Sean, we’ll get someone to look at you. Racetrack, how about you go look for Risker and come back with him and the doctor?” The boy nods, still reluctant to the idea of leaving his friend, but glad he can help. “Badger, go get your papes, tell the fellas to sell a few extras so we can buy Sean food and pay for his bed, I’ll get-“

“You don’t need to take care of me.” Sean is sitting in his bed.

“Of course we do. We’re your family now. Ain’t we Fox?”

“Whether you like it or not.”

And Sean decides that maybe he will die, but maybe he won’t. Maybe he won’t die, because now he has Race, a friend, his family and he’ll be damned if he’s going to do the same thing as his mother, he ain’t leaving his family alone and sad and lost. So maybe he’s going to die, but maybe he’s going to try to survive. He’ll live. He’ll live for Racetrack Higgins.

..

And that’s how their friendship works, they stay alive for each other.

Sean gets better much to everyone’s surprise. Tony starts calling him Spot, after one day he jokes about the number of spots in his skin being so many that he had become just one big spot himself. So now, they are both official newsies with a nickname and all.

Spot surprised everyone. Not many expected him to get away from the jaws of death. Still, the small and thin boy was up and ready to go within just a couple of weeks. They didn’t know though, that Race was to thank for that.

Everybody knew that the boy had become one of the best poker players Brooklyn had seen in years, they knew he didn’t ever lose a game. Nobody knew, though, that he would cross over to the other boroughs and play other newsies and get them to empty their pockets and fill his in return. Nobody knew that all the money he managed to get went to the medicine the doctor had said Spot needed and Fox had promised to buy when they had managed to put together enough money. Race wasn’t willing to wait that long, so he bet day and night, pickpocketed some people now and then until he had enough to buy the medicine, then he would sneak into the room Sean was staying in, the room where sick kids stayed to avoid others from getting sick too. He climbed up the side of the building and snuck in through the window, he placed the box of pills in Sean’s hand and left without a word. So, people didn’t know and people thought that it was just the fact that Spot was tough as nails, and so the rumours began. There’s nothing that can take that kid down, he has stared death in the eye and he is still standing, he’s invincible, and it was true. It was true because he stayed alive. He stayed alive for Race.

…

Illness was only just one of the ways life would try to beat Spot Conlon through the years.

Throughout the years people grew familiar with the name. The boy from Brooklyn that can beat anything that comes at him, that can take a beating and be up on his feet the next day and can soak someone without breaking a sweat.

What they don’t know is that Race is always behind him. Because they stay alive for each other. Race helps Spot get through the trials life puts before him and in exchange Spot stays alive for long enough to go up to the rooftop of the lodging house with him and look at the city and at the sky and wonder how it would feel to fly. The places they would go if they could only do that.

The first couple of years go unnoticed, Spot becomes great at selling papers. So good Sheepshead doesn’t have enough clients for both of them anymore, so they part ways. Their time together is more precious then, they see each other at the circulation gates for the last time and then go different ways. If anyone of them sells all his papers earlier than usual they go to the other’s selling spot and wait until they’re finished, helping out so it’s done faster, if not they meet in middle ground. Their evenings are spent walking around the streets of Brooklyn, they just walk. In the beginning Race is the one that does most of the talking, but as the weeks progress Sean begins to open up. Then their time together becomes more dynamic, they exchange stories and talk about their lives. They stay alive for this small moments

…

Winter is cold and unforgiving.

Their time outside is cut short by the snow, they don’t want to freeze to death, so they take it inside. Spot sits in his bed and Race plays on the ground with the other boys.

When night-time falls the temperature gets even lower and both boys are shivering under the thin blankets in their beds. So, just because it’s cold and necessary, Spot squeezes himself into Race’s bed to exchange body heat.

…

One night they are out by the bridge, the heat of the summer night makes most people escape and hide inside of their fresh homes and for once the city looks at peace.

Spot looks at Race that day, really looks at Race. The boy has grown taller within the last few months, Spot is kind of bitter about that. He looks at Race’s eyes, and just stares. This boy has become so much to Spot, his face is perfectly pictured in his mind. Still, whenever he looks at him he discovers new things or maybe they aren’t new, but Spot is amazed with them either way. The way his skin becomes adorned with small freckles whenever he spends too much time in the sun, the way his nose scrunches up when he smiles, the way his hair falls over his forehead in small curls. All small things that some people don’t notice, but Spot stares and looks. And then Race’s eyes meet his and they look at each other.

And then Race stands up suddenly and smiles.

“I’ll race you to the bridge.”

And they run, their feet are light and silent on the pavement. The heavy summer air makes it harder to breathe, but they still run. Spot is faster and once he gets to the bridge he stops and looks back, Race is just a few feet away and he is not slowing down. So, their bodies collide and they fall to the ground. They laugh. They laugh and stay there, laying together on the dirty ground.

Race looks at the moon, Spot looks at Race’s eyes and the admires how bright they are.

Spot looks at the stars, Race looks at the freckles on Spot’s skin.

A never-ending circle, and it’s innocent and they’re kids and they don’t know what they’re doing and they don’t understand. So, when their hands meet, it’s by accident. When they stay intertwined, it’s prove of their innocence.

The next morning the Brooklyn Bridge sports new markings.

“Spot wuz here.”

“R. Higgins is grayt.”

…

“What happened to them?”

“Never met my father, he left a month before mom had me, ran away with some girl he found. Mom died from the chicken pox, that’s where I got it from. I could’ve died, like her.”

“I’m glad you didn’t”

“Me too. What happened to yours?”

“They left. Both of them, with my sister. One morning they were just gone, I didn’t even bother looking for them.”

“Do you miss them?”

“Not really, no. I have you. You’re my family now.”

“Will you ever leave me?”

“Why would I?”

“That’s what families do, they claim care for each other, but forget about the other with time.”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“I’m glad.”

…

Spot makes a habit of buying Race the fancy cigars he likes once a month or whenever he gets enough money to do so. He first does it on Race’s birthday, but he’s tough and he doesn’t do feelings, so, he finds a way. The first few times are easy, he puts them in places where Race will probably believe it’s a coincidence that they are there. But he has to get more and more creative as time passes. Soon Race gets the hang of it and it becomes a game of hide and seek. Spot finds the weirdest, most unlikely places, getting to know all of Brooklyn’s darkest corners.

Race’s smile when a Corona hangs off the corner of his mouth is worth it.

...

“How much will you give me if I do it.”

“Nothing.”

“Oh, c’mon Badger. It’ll be-“

“I’ll give you a dime.”

“Hah. Now you’re talking.”

“You shouldn’t entice him, Conlon. He could get hurt.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Hey! Racer! Wait up, I’s coming with ya!”

…

Spot turns twelve in November of 1894. And he starts living up to his name.

He decides he’s old enough to stop running from fights, so he looks for them and learns from them.

Two months in he trips a guy in the races by accident when he goes to find Race, a beer bottle is thrown at his head. The guy receives a fist to the nose and Race has to drag him out before he gets in a fight

Six months in, he gives a boy from Queens an ugly look and the bum tries to get in some punches. Spot gets away with a shiner and some bloody knuckles, the boy can barely stand.

Eight months in, he hears someone talking about Racetrack in a tone he doesn’t like. The blood is still on his shirt.

Ten months in he knocks Hawk so hard in the head the boy’s ears keep ringing throughout the week.

A year in he beats five guys that were trying to get his money, all by himself, and gets a nice pimp cane from one of them.

By thirteen Fox starts calling him his bodyguard.

And in only a year and a half he has made a name for himself. He’s the most feared newsie in Brooklyn and is almost as respected as Fox is.

And Race is there, as he always is. He’s smiling when he sees spot grinning as he wipes blood off his knuckles after a good fight. He’s by Spot’s side whenever they pick up a fight together. Picking up fights of his own whenever someone does something he does not like. He’s always there and he is as much of a part of Spot as his own body is. He is part of who Spot has grown to be. Until he is too close, he is so much a part of Spot you can’t see the difference.

Until he isn’t.

…

Spring is at its peak. The air is as fresh as it can ever be in New York and Central Park is blooming. Spot screams out the day’s headline. Not a bad one. A murderer, clients love those. It’s only midday when a head of blonde curls makes their way through the crowd, a fifteen-year-old is pushing his way through the bodies of adults in fancy suits.

“Hey, buddy.” Race says as he reaches Spot. “I’s done selling for the day. How many have you left.” Spot pulls out a small stack of papers and Race takes half and starts yelling out the news. In under an hour all of Spot’s papers are gone.

“Come on, we’s gotta go.” Race starts pulling Spot away.

“Where’re we going, Race?” Spot asks, Race’s hand is still holding his and pulling him faster than the boy’s short legs can handle, so he stumbles and trips, but Race keeps going.

They reach a building and Race lets go of Spot’s hand. He starts climbing up the fire escape and Spot follows. They reach the top and Race sits down on the edge of the building.

“Why are we here?” Spot sits down next to his friend.

“I needed to take a breath.” Is the only explanation Race gives for a few minutes. So, they sit there in silence, below them the city buzzes with life.

“You ever think about running away?” Race says once the silence becomes too much. Spot looks at him for a moment, running away implies leaving Brooklyn and Brooklyn is his home, Brooklyn is what made him.

“Not really, no.” He says with honesty.

“It’s just, this big city life gets boring with time, I’d just like to forget about it for a while.” He sighs and looks at the horizon. “But it’d be hard to leave it behind.”

“Yeah, Brooklyn is our home.”

“I don’t mean Brooklyn, I couldn’t leave you.” Race says with a smile. “You’re my best friend Spot.”

“You’re my best friend, too.”

“Would you come with me if I ever leave?”

Sean has to think about it. He loves Brooklyn, it is part of him. But Race is the reason he’s here today, yes leaving would be hard, but he would do anything for Racetrack.

“I guess, yes. I mean as long as you’re there I could go just about anywhere.” He confesses.

Race smiles.

…

“I bet ya can’t break that.”

“It’s not that hard.”

“Go on then.”

“Hey!”

“Fuck.”

“Oh my god, that’s hilarious. I thought you were good with the slingshot.”

“Shut up.”

“Sorry, ma’am. My friend here was just tryna get a better look into your daughter’s room.”

“No!”

“Excuse me?”

“I hate you.”

…

“Someday, we’ll leave this city. We’ll live together, in a big house with enough place to invite our friends over.” Race says when they are back on the ground.

They are just two kids and they are just discovering themselves, so when Race bends down and presses his lips slightly against Spot’s cheek, their innocence blinds. Race is not thinking and Spot is too young to know how wrong it is. Spot blushes and his eyes go wide and he frowns as he looks at the ground and Race has the widest grin on his face, but then he hears it.

“Hey!” A voice calls. “You can’t do that, that’s disgusting.”

Spot watches as Race’s eyes flare with panic and his face pales. The older boy turns around trying to shield Spot, but the kid is on his toes trying to look over the taller boy’s shoulders.

“Fellas! Hi, how’s it going?”

“Racetrack?” An older newsie is with the group of men that are walking towards them. “You’s a fag, I wasn’t expecting that.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Race is terrified of what may come. How could he be so stupid.

“Tony, what’s going on?” Spot’s voice is strong.

“What’s going on is that we will have to teach you a lesson. No point on denying, we know what we saw. You’re fairies and this ain’t the bowery, so I hope you know how to take a punch.”

One of them lurches forward and tackles Race to the floor immediately pounding his fists into the boy’s body. Spot tries to get to his friend but is pushed against a wall, still not fully understanding why they’ve gotten into this fight. Spot bites the arm that’s pushing him and receives a blow to the ribs in return, he groans but has been in enough fights. Soon he has the upper hand on one of the guys and is trying to get to Race, who is back on his feet but has two of the bums on him. With one last blow to the head the guy falls and Spot turns to run toward his friend, but is stopped by a sharp pain on his shoulder, with a yelp he looks down at where he has just been stabbed. His shirt is soaking through, the blood is warm and thick and it grounds him, so he ignores the pain and delivers another blow. But before he can strike again, the guy before him crumbles. Fox stands behind him holding a broken bottle.

“C’mere.” He pulls Spot towards him and turns to Race.

“Come on, fellas. It’s a misunderstanding.” He smirks. “Besides, you call those punches? You’re just embarrassing yourselves if ya’ asks me.”

Both guys charge at him.

“Leave him.” Fox says with a strong voice, making sure his authority is audible.

“What? Now you defend fags, Fox?” The newsie says, Fox looks confused for a minute and frowns from Race who is being held up by one of the boys, to Spot. Race looks down at his feet and Spot’s expression mirrors Fox’s.

“I don’t. I defend my family and so should you.” He shoves the newsie; the boy looks taken aback but regains his composure when the guy holding Race grabs him by the hair and lands a punch on the side of his face.

“Hey!” Spot moves past them and towards Race, but Fox manages to grab a hold of his shirt before he can get too far.

“Brooklyn is my family, but there ain’t no place in Brooklyn for faggots.” The boy shoves Fox back. “And if you’s gonna defend them, then you’s gonna get the same treatment.”

Fox ducks and the boy misses his first punch, soon though, they are caught in a fist fight and Spot manages to get to Race.

Racetrack is barely standing his ground, the bum that’s on him is at least a foot taller than him. Still, when Spot comes over he shoves him behind him, using his body to shield him.

“Stop it, Race! I can keep up!”

With that Spot ducks below Race’s arm and punches the guy in the gut. His shoulder screams in pain, but he is rather comfortable with it, it keeps him focused. So, with just a slight grimace in response to the pain he jumps onto the other man. He tears, and bites, and hits, and kicks at anything he can, because this man hurt Race and he’ll be damned if he’ll ever let someone get away with hurting his best friend. Soon the man is backed up against the wall. Fox is still fighting with the other newsie, now with help from Race. In a matter of minutes, they are all on the ground and the three Brooklyn boys stand winded and sweaty and hurt, but safe. For now.

“Spot, you’re bleeding.” Race is by Spot’s side in a moment holding the boy’s shoulder and putting pressure in the wound. Spot winces and grits his teeth at the pressure.

“I’se fine.” Spot says, but he’s feeling a bit dizzy and is having trouble keeping his eyes open.

“Come on, let’s get you back to the lodging house. We’ll have Stitches fix you up.” Fox walks out of the alley and the air of the night finally fills his lungs.

“How did you find us, Fox?” Race asks, he tries to get Spot to put and arm around his shoulder to support his weight but the kid grumbles that he can get by on his own and pushes the older boy’s arm away. Fox smiles, Brooklyn through and through.

“I was looking for you, Risker said you hadn’t been at your selling spot for long today and then sundown came down and you’s still not at the house. I figured you were in trouble, so I started roaming the city. Didn’t think I would find you in that situation though.” He gives Race a sideways glance and the boy looks at the floor.

They aren’t very far from where they had been before, but Spot is feeling very dizzy and has to sit down. So, he falls onto the sidewalk and tries to control the pain, breathing slowly through his nose and gritting his teeth.

“Come on Race.” Fox walks away, just a few feet, so he can still keep an eye on his youngest boy. “Was it true? What the bums said.”

“Fox, look it was all me. Spot’s nothing to do with it, trust me. You can soak me, but I’m not sure he even knew what was going on.” Race explains, his voice is pleading. He couldn’t stand the thought of Spot getting even more hurt.

Fox looks at the sky and sighs.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He turns to look at Spot, he has his eyes shut tight but his breathing has evened out a bit. “Look, Racetrack. I’m not gonna soak ya’. As I said back there, you’s family. But, you must stop this. Spot is too young, he doesn’t understand that what’s happening, what you’re doing, is wrong.”

Race’s heart falls at that, he can do a lot of things, but letting go of Spot when he is so close, when he can see him every day, that he can’t do.

“I don’t think I can stop it, Fox. I care for him too much.” Race confesses.

“Then I’ll guess you’ll have to leave.”

Race’s face falls.

“What?”

“Race, I don’t think you understand how dangerous this is. You can get Spot and yourself killed.” Fox explains. “These bums we just beat, they aren’t the only ones who will try to soak you for loving another boy, so don’t do this for yourself, do it for him. He has a great future in Brooklyn y’know, he’s meant to be here”

They stay alive for each other, no matter what it takes.

Race nods and Fox gives him a squeeze on the shoulder.

“You’ll get by, you’s one of the smartest people I know.” Fox reassures him.

“I just don’t understand how-“

They both turn when Spot lets out a gasp. The guys from before are back and one of them has pushed Spot to the ground.

Both older boys rush to them and start throwing punches. And they hit, and they get hit, and the knife doesn’t shine until it’s coated in the blood of the King.

Fox looks down, his chest is quickly becoming drenched in the crimson liquid that’s spilling from his chest.

“No!” Spot screams as the oldest newsie falls to his knees.

Race watches as Spot becomes so full of rage, that he’s no longer there.

Spot punches and strikes to kill, one after the other the men fall at the hands of the thirteen-year-old, and he lives up to his name. He’s wounded and hurt and death is around him, but does not dare touch Spot Conlon.

He reaches the king who is now coughing up blood and Spot is covered in blood that is not his, and Race is watching Spot can feel him, a part of him that is keeping him grounded, who keeps him sane. And then he’s not there.

When Risker finds them in the middle of the night, just a few hours away from dawn, Spot is coated in blood and there’s the once king of Brooklyn, laying lifeless on the ground and there’s three fallen grown men around him. And there’s the new king, with a glare on his face and dry blood on his knuckles and he’s alive but not quite, and Anthony Higgins is gone halfway to Manhattan now and they stay alive. Only just.


	2. There’s a life that’s worth the livin’

Manhattan is very different from Brooklyn, there’s no denying that. Brooklyn is hard and unforgiving, only the toughest make it there. The moment Racetrack steps into the neighbouring territory it’s almost like he can feel a change in the air.

He doesn’t know what it is, but the moment he finally reaches the end of the Brooklyn Bridge a weight is lifted off his shoulders. Except he knows exactly what that weight is. He has just left his best friend behind with a new life ahead of him, he shouldn’t have done that, but Fox’s words scared him. What he had done could’ve meant death for one of them. Then there’s the fact that he had just seen scrawny and small Spot Conlon take on three grown men while wounded and get away only slightly dizzier than before.

Spot had moved with such ease, such grace. It had entranced Race for a moment, the way he seemed to know where each fist was aimed to, how he ducked and punched back without staggering, how he leaped onto the next man as soon as one of them was lying on the floor. Tony was scared then, because Spot hadn’t just beat the bums. There was no doubt, only a lifeless body could drop onto the floor the way the men had, their joints like jelly and limbs limp. One crumbled to the ground not very far from Race and his eyes were the worst part to look at. They were empty, Race didn’t know that it was possible for someone’s eyes to look so empty, so dead.

So, with Fox’s words in his mind and with the fear fuelling him, he ran. He climbed the building to his right as silently as he could. Spot was too distracted by the fight to notice as Race went up the fire escape. He didn’t stop until he had reached the fourth floor and stepped onto the roof.

His eyes remain on Spot until he sees that his friend is safe, the boy kneels next to Fox’s body, the king’s breaths become shallower every second and his eyes are unfocused and so Race leaves. He jumps from building to building until he is far enough to walk inconspicuously, a cigar is soon hanging off his mouth, helping him even his breathing and push down the sick feeling in his stomach and once he reaches the bridge he slows down.

His mind is still in Brooklyn. Did Spot leave in time to not be found surrounded by dead bodies? Is he safe back at the lodging house? Who will take Fox’s place? Behind him stands his home, the place that he grew up in, the place that raised him, but he has made mistakes that he can’t fix and that place is no longer safe, not for him, not for the one person he holds dearest to his heart and who he has just left behind to deal with this mess by himself. Before him, the place that will make it all right again.

…

The lodging house is not hard to find, he has been there before, never inside but he has visited and played cards with some of the Manhattan newsies in the past. It’s smaller than Brooklyn’s, but it also looks cosier, more welcoming. With that in mind he walks through the front door, the house is filled with young boys, they all play and chat, familiarity fills the air, no hostility involved.

“Racetrack!” Jack Kelly greets him from where he is sitting next to his best friend.

“Cowboy, how’s it rolling?” He says with a smile.

“You look like hell.” Crutchie points out from his spot on the floor next to Jack.

And Race feels like hell, his body aches, his lip is bleeding and bruises are starting to appear all over his skin, the fight had drained him and the walk over to Manhattan hadn’t really helped his recovery.

“Why, thank you, Crutchie. You sure know how to make a guy feel pretty.” Race replies with a small smile as he sighs and drops down next to the boys.

“What happened?” Jack asks, Crutchie stands up and leaves the room. He comes back a moment later with a cloth which he hands to the bruised boy before him.

“Thanks.” He cleans his split lip, wincing slightly. In the short moment it took Crutchie to go find something for to Race clean himself up, the other boys in the house have come closer, eager to hear why Race is crossing over to another borough so late and looking so beat up.

“Why are you here Race?” Mush asks sitting next to him and taking the cloth to clean a place where Race’s eyebrow is bleeding.

“Hey, Mushy.” Race smiles at the boy. “There’s been some trouble in Brooklyn.”

“You got in a fight?” Mike asks.

“Well, duh, you dumbass. He didn’t soak his self.” Ike, his twin, replies smacking his brother’s shoulder. Both boys start to bicker.

“Shuddup, will ya?” Blink stops them, smacking both boys in the back of the head, the twins groan and pout but stop their fight.

“What kind of trouble?” Jack is leaning forward, sensing how uneasy Race is feeling.

Race looks at the leader of the Manhattan newsies. Jack is younger than Race is, he remembers the first time he met the boy, one of the first times he had decided to cross over to play poker with other newsies. He is a few months younger than Race, fifteen and already a leader.

“Fox is gone.” He casts his eyes down.

Jack’s eyes darken, the rest of the boys start mumbling under their breath. The older kids approach their leader with troubled looks.

“What does that have anything to do with you looking like this Race?” Jojo asks. Jack looks at Race with a frown.

“I- We was just, I mean, I tried to stop it.” He stutters out. “I tried to help him and got soaked in return.” He lies.

“And why did you come here?” Crutchie asks.

“It ain’t safe for me to be there.” Race looks down.

More whispers fill the room.

“Why?” Romeo speaks over the noice.

“It’s complicated.”

“Well, you’s welcome to stay here.” Jack says. “Ask Kloppman for a bed, we’ll see where you can sell tomorrow.”

Race nods and thanks Jack.

The boys’ voices become louder and don’t stop until very late at night. Race pays for a bed at the lodging house and lays awake all night.

…

Race sits up in bed in the middle of the night and rubs his eyes, he is exhausted but he can’t seem to fall asleep. He stands and walks to the window, careful not to make noise, he climbs out into the fire escape. He breathes in the cool air and rests against the railings. He takes out his last cigar and places it between his lips, he doesn’t smoke, just keeps it there for the sake of it.

He has left Spot alone to deal with the consequences of what had happened, Spot would have to explain everything that had taken place that night as all of the Brooklyn newsies waited for an explanation on why their king had been found dead in an alley. He has left Spot, his best friend, to fend for himself in order to save his own skin. He has caused Fox’s death.

Fox was one of the best kings Brooklyn had seen in years, he had come to power when he was fourteen, the king before him had tried to make the newsies that worked in Brooklyn pay him “in exchange for his good leadership”. Fox had put an end to it by delivering a blow so hard to his head the boy crumpled immediately. He was almost nineteen now and he could’ve made it out, he could’ve grown old, but nothing lasts that long in Brooklyn. The new king will have to fill some pretty big shoes.

Race’s thoughts are interrupted when someone steps out of the window behind him. Bright red flashes before his eyes and, before he can even react, the cigar that previously hung off his lips is gone. He looks at the boy before him, he is smirking as he holds the cigar between his fingers.

“This is good.” He says. “Where’d you get it from?”

“Stole it.” Race holds his hand out.

The redhead places the cigar between his lips and looks up at the sky.

“Why are you out here?”

“I could ask you the same question.” Race replies rolling his eyes when the kid doesn’t give his cigar back.

“Because you woke me up.” He finally hands Race’s cigar back.

“Oh, um, sorry. I tried to be silent.” Race looks away.

“Don’t worry, I’m a light sleeper.”

“Albert, right?” He remembers the bright hair from one of his trips a few months back.

“Yup.”

Silence falls between them for a while, Race watches the stars and the moon. The night is so calm and peaceful, a stark contrast from the turmoil he feels inside him.

“You alright?” Albert finally breaks the silence.

With that question Race breaks down.

…

Albert is a good listener and Race is thankful for that because he spills everything out. He leaves out the details that could get him in trouble, he is not going to risk this boys’ rejection, they have just accepted him into their home. He is lucky to have friends outside of Brooklyn, he is not going to lose the already weak friendship by telling them that something turned out wrong within him and he happens to love another boy.

Race tells Albert how he had gotten in a fight, how Fox had tried to help, how Fox’s death is on his hands, how he just left his best friend behind, alone and probably terrified. And Albert listens, he listens as this boy he has hardly ever spoken to spills his heart out and cries, he just listens, only nodding or resting an assuring hand on the boy’s shoulder or shushing him softly when his voice starts to raise.

Dawn finds both boys asleep outside, heads resting against the other.

…

In Brooklyn the night is chaotic, Risker had left to go looking for the king and came back with two. A dead one on his back and a bloodied and angry one by his side.

When they first arrive back at the lodging house Spot’s mind still hasn’t processed what had happened, his mind is only thinking of his best friend. His eyes scan the crowd and look for the blonde mop of curls that should be among the rest of the faces, but can’t seem to find him.

Race is gone, Spot had felt him leave back in the alley, but had hoped to see him when he came back home. The boy is nowhere to be seen and Spot’s stomach drops.

His mind finally settles on the fact that Fox is dead, Brooklyn has no king. Risker guides him into the lodging house and upstairs, all eyes are fixed on them and he can hear people whispering. Once upstairs Riskers curses and looks at the key he has between his hands, the jey that had hung around the king's neck, and then back at Spot.

“How did this happen? What did you do?” Risker is angry, Spot can sense it, but he isn’t scared. He should be terrified, anyone would be after experiencing what he just had, but he isn’t. Fear is not within him, he can’t bring himself to be scared, he is too angry. He is furious and he feels betrayed which only adds to this feeling.

The image of Fox laying lifeless before him is still very vivid, the king was dead and he had been right there, with no witnesses to provide their own version of the story. His second in command stands with his arms crossed waiting for an answer. Spot can tell the truth, he can tell Risker that Fox was trying to protect him, that somehow Race and him had managed to get a group of grown men angry and ready to kill and Fox had come to the rescue. But, he’d have to explain the details, details he was only just beginning to grasp and details that involved Race. Racetrack, his best friend who had just abandoned him.

So, he states simply.

“I killed him.”

…

New York wakes up to the news.

Spot Conlon is the new king of Brooklyn.

The streets are full of whispers and exclamations from the newsies. Spot Conlon had killed Fox and taken the throne.

The stories make their way to Manhattan. Racetrack makes no comment about them.

…

The first days are chaotic, the Brooklyn newsies weren’t expecting such a change to come their way and Spot is not the person they would’ve willingly given the power to. Steadily Spot brings Brooklyn back to its feet after the tragic loss it had suffered. Fox had been a good king, he cared about the kids under his care and tried to give them the best he could, but he had cared too much about his and Brooklyn’s reputation on the other boroughs. Spot already had a reputation and had lived up to it the day he came out of that alley alive.

…

Power suits Spot Conlon, only thirteen and he is already king. Word has gone out about Fox’s death and people are curious. The boy was astute, that’s how he got his name, he could outsmart his way out of most things, so the person who killed him had to be smarter and stronger.

He quickly makes himself seen and respected through any methods that are needed. In a matter of days leaders from every other place in New York City come to Brooklyn to meet the new King and Spot greeted them with a glare and a smart mouth.

Brooklyn is now as organized as ever, some of the kids had opposed to the idea of Spot being in the throne but the king himself had confronted them and either earned their trust or walked away from the fight with only bruised knuckles.

He takes power with expertise and seriousness, he is meant for this.

…

Racetrack’s absence doesn’t go unnoticed. One day Badger approaches Spot after selling. The older newsie had heard rumours about Race being in Manhattan and decided to look for the boy. He informs the king of this. Spot crosses the bridge later that day and climbs the fire escape of the lodging house, Race sits inside with a redhead and a kid with an eyepatch, playing poker and smiling without a care. Spot goes back without anyone noticing he was ever there.

The next day on of his birds is assigned to Manhattan.

…                                                                                                                                                       

A week into his reign Spot is in the lodging house, he has assigned some of his boys to go around the city and bring back any useful information, he sits on his bed while one of his birds tells him about her day spent in The Bronx.

“They have a new leader, Smalls, she is the one that started the fight with Rust.” She informs.

“Why was Rust in The Bronx? He’s assigned to be selling by the bridge.” Spot asks, he looks at Risker who is still the second in command. The older boy shrugs.

“He went to see a girl, sneaked into their territory to speak to her. A boy from around there saw him and brought Smalls back with him. She said that he better leave or she’d have to kick him out, Brooklyn and The Bronx ain’t friends, she said. Rust tried to get her to let him stay for a while.”

“He got soaked for challenging her.” Risker provides.

“We’s got to let them know we’s the strong ones. I’ll go talk to Smalls tomorrow after the morning edition.” Risker nods in agreement. “How is Rust?” He asks the girl still standing before him.

“He’s fine, got his self a nice shiner and a split lip.”

“Tell him to go see Stitches.” Spot orders and the newsie nods. “Thank you, Fluff. Dismissed.”

The girl nods and leaves.

“Who was in Manhattan?” The king asks his second.

“Hunter.” Risker walks to the window and looks down; the Brooklyn kids are playing as the last rays of sunshine start to lose their light and get swallowed by the darkness of night.

A knock on the door. A grumble of agreement and then the door slowly opens to reveal the boy previously mentioned. He wears a confident smile as he steps into the room followed by someone else. Spot looks at them and freezes for a moment. Racetrack stands by the door, his hat in his hands and his gaze cast down. Hunter starts talking and Race’s eyes slowly look towards Spot and when blue eyes meet a small smile makes its way to the older boy’s lips. It doesn’t last long; Spot’s glare is intimidating and unwavering. Hunter stops talking.

“Spot.” Race tries to talk.

“Why are you here?” Spot’s voice is empty and collected.

Race gives a small shrug and pulls out a cigar from his vest.

“I wanted to ask for a favour.” He places his cigar in his mouth and gives one of his winning smiles, Spot’s glare becomes sharper.

“What is it, Racetrack?” Risker can sense the anger coming off from his king, so he takes the conversation into his hands.

“Well you know, Manhattan is not really big on betting, so I’se kinda short on money. I went to the races today, bet on a horse.” He grins and holds his cigar with pride. “Got enough for a couple of this.”

“Get to it, before I kick your ass all the way back to Manhattan.” Spot grumbles.

“I saw that no one has taken up selling at Sheepshead.” Race explains. “I was wondering if I could?”

“No.” Spot answers and turns to Hunter.

“The other birds should be here by now, tell them to come up and report.” Hunter nods and leaves the room.

“Spot.” Risker tries to get the king’s attention.

“Don’t.” He stops him. “What are you still doing here?”

Racetrack is slightly taken aback.

“Come on, you know how much I love that place.”

“I don’t care. Leave.”

“I will only sell there. You won’t have to see me.”

Spot’s anger only flares at that statement.

“Get out.” He walks to the door and holds it open for the older boy to leave.

“Spot.”

“Get out.” Spot’s voice rises for the first time, Race flinches and looks at Risker who is leaning against one of the bunkbeds.

“I would listen if I were you.”

And with that Race is gone once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not very happy with how this one turned out. I hope you guys enjoy it though.


	3. Come back my lovey dovey baby

Sleep avoids Spot Conlon that night, he finishes up his duties and goes to bed, he lays there, waiting for sleep to finally come and drag him into the empty and dark calmness that comes with, but it never comes. The blood in his veins runs too fast and hot, the thoughts in his brain move too fast and loud. Sleep steers away from the agitated boy that rests in the old mattress, clenched jaw and tight fists.

The place goes silent as all of the kids inside the house start falling asleep, something that very rarely happens during the day. The silence is welcome and pleasant as it takes the place of loud voices and cheerful laughing, but it doesn’t help him calm down, if anything it makes his thoughts louder and impossible to ignore. Darkness falls upon them once the last candle is off, but as much as he tries his eyes remain glued to the roof and his mind keeps running. He is angry; his blood is still boiling through his veins and his hands tremble.

He had been happy to see Race at first, he had thought that maybe the boy had come back to stay, regretting ever leaving Brooklyn and Spot behind. He had been relieved at the thought of his friend coming back to him. But, as soon as he saw Race’s eyes he knew that he wasn’t there to stay. Over the years he has learned how to read the other boy, words weren’t always needed between them, a look could often times say more than any word they could say. Race’s eyes had held no regret for leaving, he knew it the moment their eyes met that he wasn’t here to mend things and he started feeling the anger grow inside of him as the boy he had trusted with everything tried to ask for a favour he certainly held no right to ask for. He wasn’t sad, he wasn’t hurt, he was angry and betrayed, his thoughts clouded by the rage that soared through his being.

After an hour of observing the dim beams of light that come in from the windows and dance in intricate patterns against the walls and ceiling, he gives up and sleep stops being an option. His bare feet touch the cool floor as he stands and dresses himself as silently as he can, careful not to wake any of the sleeping boys surrounding him. He steps outside, his feet lead him with no destination, he’s roamed this streets before. His breathing is hard and agitated and he starts running, he runs without stopping, the sound of the soles of his shows hitting the hard concrete echoes through the night. He stops when his legs start hurting and his lungs begin to wheeze. He walks for a while, the sounds of the city during the night his only company. He just walks, no destination, he knows every street and corner of the city like the palm of his hand, so he doesn’t worry about getting lost.

He knows it’s not safe to be outside this late, Brooklyn is already unsafe in daylight, in the darkness of night the streets become a dangerous place to be in. But he is Spot Conlon, he can handle goons coming at him with clubs and sticks, he has won numerous fights during his short life, he knows how to handle himself. He is still startled when a hand covers his mouth and pulls him into a dark alley. His first instinct is to attack, and so he does. He bites the hand resting on his mouth and turns to deliver a punch. But stops when he hears the person speak.

“Dammit, Spot.” Race groans as he clutches his hand. “I think it’s bleeding, fuck.”

Spot’s fist connects with soft flesh.

He takes a deep breath and turns away, his hands still clenched into fists. The older boy groans and regains his balance after the hit.

“Spot.” Race is touching his shoulder now and Spot can’t help but flinch. That same touch, soft and warm, had felt so familiar before, now it’s strange, heavy and it burns his skin, a reminder of the betrayal he feels. The hand of yet another person that has left him, another person for whom he was not worth staying for.

“You should be in Manhattan.” Spot points out dryly.

“I know.” Race takes a drag from his cigar. “I couldn’t bring myself to leave though. It’s kind of surprising, but I miss Brooklyn.”

“Sure ya do.”

“Really, Manhattan is great, but there’s something about Brooklyn that makes me feel at home.”

The chaos, Brooklyn is always enveloped in an air of chaos, an organized chaos that keeps the city alive and running, it runs deep into its veins, the very essence of what is Brooklyn. The fights that burst out of nowhere and end with bloodied smiles and groans. He misses this place, the place that he owes his life to. Still, standing in here, he doesn’t miss this place, he doesn’t miss its streets or the constant turmoil that hangs in the air. Standing here, he misses bright blue eyes looking up at him with a smile barely growing on thin lips, he misses freckled cheeks puffing and flushing after a race, he misses blonde hair sticking out in weird places after the old hat is off. He misses snarky comebacks and glares so sharp they could kill.

He really misses Spot Conlon.

Spot Conlon, that stands amidst all that chaos that defines Brooklyn and not only embraces it, but becomes one with it. He lets it run through him and tames it when he needs to, or lets it run wild and free when it’s convenient. Spot Conlon, so unpredictable and fluctuating, yet so reliable and certain for Race.

“You’s the one who left.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s still my home, y’know.”

“People don’t usually leave home with such ease.”

“When has anything we’s ever done been the usual?” Race smiles.

Spot huffs out something that Race assumes is the closest thing to a laugh he will get anytime soon.

“What happened, Spot?” Race’s eyes meet Spot’s and both boys immediately know what he’s talking about.

“I’m sure you’s already heard the news.”

“I have, I was also there to know what actually happened. You didn’t kill him.”

“I might as well have. We, might as well have, Racetrack.”

Race frowns at this. Spot’s words are bitter and angry. He hadn’t thought of it that way, Fox’s death wasn’t on their hands, it was in the hands of the men that had attacked them.

“We didn’t do nothing to him, Spot.” He tries to explain.

“I know, but we did something to piss off them bums that got to us, if we hadn’t he’d still be alive.” Spot’s eyes lower to the ground at the thought.

He and Race hadn’t done anything wrong, they weren’t hurting anyone else, but somehow it was wrong enough for them to get killed for it. Race is surprised to hear this, and if Spot can hear the older boy’s heart as it drops to his feet when the words leaves his mouth, he makes no comment.

“You’re a good king, from what I’ve heard.” Race changes the subject of their conversation, his voice soft.

“Oh, I know.” Spot shrugs.

“Modest.”

“You should get back to Manhattan before it gets even darker.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Neither boy moves for a while. The smoke of Race’s cigar swirls upwards and away into the night sky. Spot breathes it in, he hadn’t thought about it before, but now he realises just how much he had missed the smell of tobacco, a smell that immediately takes his mind to the boy who now stands next to him, a smell that lingers long after the smoke is gone.

“I’ll walk with ya.” Spot states.

Race follows the shorter boy as he walks onto the dimly lit streets.

“I can take care of myself, y’know.”

“Alright, then.” Spot stops and turns towards the lodging house.

Race watches as the thin frame starts to get away, his cane clicking slightly on the pavement, emphasising each step he takes.

“Wait, I would like the company.” Spot stops and turns, twirling his cane.

“You’se got friends for that.” He says in a dry tone; the bitterness is back and the vulnerability he had shown just minutes before is completely gone the moment he steps into the street.

Race’s face falls at those words.

“You’re my friend.” His voice is quiet, but the dead silence of the night carries the sound perfectly.

In a blur Spot is in front of him, the top of his cane digging into Race’s throat.

“Shut up.” His voice trembles and he takes a deep breath, his calm and collected demeanour coming back to him, his stance remains strong and threatening and even though he is a couple of inches shorter than Race, he imposes himself over the older boy. And in that moment Racer sees it, this boy is made for this, he is regal and strong and wise, he is a king.

“I’m sorry.” Race says, his voice still soft.

Spot glares and pushes him lightly away.

“Go.” He orders.

“I’m not sorry, for saying you’s my friend.” Spot’s glare is washed away by confusion. “I’m not. Because you are my friend, the best one I’ve had.”

“Don’t.” Spot tries to get closer, but Race places a hand on his chest, keeping him away.

“I am sorry for not being your friend though.” Race continues. “I shouldn’t have left you back there, but I was scared Spot and I am not nearly as strong as you are and I am glad that you are king now.”

Spot stares, silent.

“I’m sorry.”

Race starts to walk away towards the bridge as Spot watches him.

The bridge that connects two cities. A river between them and a bridge that keeps them together. A bridge that connects the lives they’ve chosen, separate from one another, contrasting and unlike the other, they are different people from who they were only a week ago, their lives are different and new, but still the same. Lives that have remained intertwined through the years, as they have come to realise just now, because even through the adversity they stayed alive for one another. They stay alive and they build bridges.

Spot’s voice echoes through the night.

“Be at the races tomorrow morning.”

…

Back in the lodging house Risker ignores the soft, relieved and almost happy sigh that escapes the king’s lips as he slips back into bed a few hours before dawn.

…

The next morning Race is at the races first thing in the morning.

…

Spot sits on top of a pile of crates, overlooking as his boys swim and run around the place, Risker stands next to him, chatting with another kid, when two kids approach them.

“Spot. There’s another intruder.” One of the kids says, a small boy with dark hair. The statement makes the newsies around them come closer.

Queens had been causing trouble with Brooklyn lately, and had sent kids to sell in the neighbouring turf to spite the Brooklyn newsies, often resulting in fights that only made matters worse.

“Where?” The king stands.

“Saw them crossing the bridge.” The boy continues as his friend nods.

A murmur spreads across the newsies, if the intruder was seen at the bridge they were probably not from Queens. Risker looks at Spot as the king frowns.

“Do you know who it was?” Risker asks glancing at Spot.

The boy nods and looks at his friend.

“Racetrack Higgins.”

“Where did he go?”

“I think he was headed to the races.”

Spot watches as some of the boys previously listening to the exchange start running in the direction of the place previously stated.

“What should we do about him, Spot?” Risker asks the younger boy who still stands frowning, his mind running.

“Show ‘im what happens when you mess with Brooklyn.” Someone offers.

“But he’s Brooklyn.” A confused boy replies.

“He ain’t Brooklyn no more. Let’s show Kelly he oughta be more careful of where he sends his boys.”

The voices of the rest of the newsies fill Spot’s ears.

“Let’s soak ‘im.”

This makes Spot snap out of it and glare towards the boy who finally puts into words what the others had been suggesting.

“Hey!” His voice is loud and makes the murmurs stop. “No one’s soaking Race.”

He sees some disappointed faces looking at him.

“He took Sheepshead with my permission. If anyone has anything to say about it, take it up with me.” Spot’s eyes scan the crowd that has now formed before him, challenging those who might dare say something.

“But, he’s Manhattan.” Someone points out.

“And I says he can sell over here.”

“Hey, fellas, c’mon.” The boy in question is being pushed towards the place where the king stands by the boys that had left before.

“Leave him.” Spot orders and the boys stop pushing, Race turns to Spot with a grin spreading across his face and the usual cigar hanging off his lips.

“Hiya, Spot. I thinks some of your boys got the wrong idea.” Spot rolls his eyes, but turns towards the boys gathered around him.

“Racetrack can cross the bridge, he can sell at Sheepshead.” Spot hears soft whispers spread across the newsies. “I’s spoken to them Manhattan boys, we’s made a deal and Race is part of it.”

Race’s smile grows at the lie that leaves his friend’s lips.

“Now, go.” Spot finishes and looks at Race before turning and sitting back down on his makeshift throne.

Risker approaches him.

“I haven’t heard anything from Manhattan in a while.” He says sceptically.

“We’ll talk later.”

“Hey! Spot!” Racer calls from the place he is still standing in. “You up for playing some dice?”

Spot looks at him and rolls his eyes at the cheeky smile that adorns the older boy’s face.

“Don’t try your luck, Higgins.”

“Killjoy.” Race replies. “Boys! Anyone up for some poker?” He shouts over at the other boys.

“I’ll play!” Rust approaches excitedly.

Soon, there’s a circle of newsies playing a few feet away from Spot.

Race is happy, he plays cards with the boys he grew up with and enjoys every minute of it. He has an incredible poker face, no emotion whatsoever, but his eyes give it away. They shine with excitement, just a gleam, barely there, you must look for it in order to see it. Spot finds it without trouble.

“Don’t dry up my boys, Racer.” Spot snarls after the first game is done and he sees all his newsies hand over coins to Race. Race looks up and winks as he shoves the money into his pocket.

The king throws his head back and puts his hat over his face, hiding the smile that spreads involuntarily as he hears his best friend laugh and his newsies groan.

…

Risker knows, or at least he has his suspicions. Spot can tell by the questioning looks he sends his way whenever Race’s open invitation into their borough gets mentioned. But, he ignores it.

He ignores the way the king’s posture seems to relax whenever his friend appears, he ignores the looks Race sends Spot’s way and the small smiles that follow, he ignores the fact that Spot starts selling his papers twice as fast just to head to the races before Race is done.

Risker ignores the fact that Spot Conlon is utterly and madly in love with Racetrack Higgins, but is too foolish to see it himself.

…

Albert decides to follow Race one day. He follows the other boy silently as he makes his way towards his selling spot, except he makes a turn in the other direction and head towards Brooklyn.

The redheaded boy waits until Race is out of sight to cross the bridge. He crosses quickly, trying not to lose the shadow in the distance that his friend has become. He’s never been to Brooklyn, people weren’t usually very keen on the idea of crossing over. He knows it’s risky, but curiosity gets the best of him and he wants to know why the boy who is slowly becoming one of his closest friends hasn’t been at his usual selling place.

He continues walking, almost reaching the end of the bridge before a thin figure stands in his way with crossed arms.

“You’s got no reason to be here.” The boy before him says.

“I’s just looking for someone.” Albert looks over the boy’s shoulder, Race is now gone.

“Well, you can’t just cross over here. Where’s Kelly?” The boy questions.

“He didn’t send me.” Albert tries to move past the shorter boy before him.

“Then you’s got no reason to be here, Manhattan is only allowed over if it is for doing business.”

“Hey, look. I’s just trying to find someone, I’ll leave when I find them.”

“You can’t.”

“Well, I will.” Albert shoves the other boy to the side and starts walking with wide strides towards the last place he had seen Race standing.

A pair of hands grab him by his shoulders and spin him around before he can get too far.

“Kid you’s gonna leave now, or I’ll kick your ass over to you turf.”

“Oh yeah? Try.”

The boy’s eyes flare with anger and his fist flies towards Albert so quickly the boy can barely dodge the strike.

Race is already halfway to the races when he hears one of his fellow newsies shout out that Spot has gotten into a fight by the bridge, he ignores it at first but immediately sprints towards the place when he hears them say the king is fighting with one of Jack’s boys.

He finds Spot looking down at Albert, who is still in one piece, something not many people could say after fighting Spot.

“Woah! Spotty!” Race doesn’t even think before standing between both boys. “This here is my friend. Who is apparently an idiot.”

“Have you ever looked in a mirror?” Albert replies as he stands up.

“He refused to listen to me.” Spot glares.

“Yeah, well who are you to tell me what to do?” Albert throws himself at the blonde boy, but Race stops him.

“Hey, hey, Albo. That ain’t no way to talk to a king.” Race smiles at Spot who is still looking between both boys.

Albert’s face is full of fear for an instant but it soon turns into confusion.

“You’re Spot Conlon?”

Spot squares his shoulder and nods with pride.

“I thought you was taller.”

…

Albert leans against Race’s side as they make their way back to Manhattan, his head spinning a bit and his legs weak. His words are a bit slurred when he speaks.

“He’s nice, I think we’s gonna be friends.”

…

Smalls visits Brooklyn one evening, fuming because one of Spot’s newsies had decided that it was a good idea to get into a fight with one of hers on her own turf. When Spot only shrugs and says he can’t do anything about the fact that The Bronx can’t fight, she is on him before he can react.

Spot Conlon is defeated for the first time in years that day.

He is left with several bruises and matching split eyebrow and lip, but what hurts the most is his wounded pride as Smalls leaves Brooklyn with only a slight limp and a smirk.

Race is there to heal his wounds and laugh at the boy’s shocked face.

…

One morning a new cigar is found under Racer’s pillow, with no trace of who left it there.

…

When Queens declares war on Brooklyn and the bridge is closed off to every outsider, Racetrack comes and goes with no problem.

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry this took so long, but I hope you like it.  
> The next chapter is already outlined so I'm hoping to have it done by the end of the week.  
> Anyways, thank you for reading. I live and breathe for feedback so please comment what you thought, also hmu in tumblr @donttakemuchtobeadreamer if you'd like.


	4. So Spill No Tears For Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "It should be done by the end of the week." She said.  
> "It's already outlined." She said.  
> Almost three months, I am so sorry! Writer's block is a thing and finals really don't help, also this wasn't supposed to be the next chapter, but last minute I decided against doing a sudden time skip, so instead I tried to do a montage of some of the important/entertaining things I imagined, so this was the result. I will try to finish the next chapter asap, I'm currently on winter break, so hopefully it won't take another three months. Also, this is completely unedited so I am sorr if there are mistakes of any sort.  
> Hope you enjoy:) Love you guys.  
> Hmu @donttakemuchtobeadreamer

Years come upon the working kids of New York like a breeze, hardworking and tired the boys grow. Shoulders become broader, voices crack and lower, bodies grow and become taller. The newsies that get too old to sell, have to leave the safety of the lodging house and new, younger ones take their place.  
The years pass but the boys are still the same, a family of broken pieces that found each other through tough times and tragedies and mended together to become a family, a weird, unusual family, but a family nonetheless. And as the years come and go their bond grows and becomes stronger and they will do anything for one another.  
…  
Brooklyn becomes used to Racetrack spending most of his time there, once he is done selling he heads over to where the rest of the newsies go after selling. He always says its simply because he likes playing cards with the boys, but anytime he gets the chance he slips next to Spot with a smile and stays with his friend until it gets too late and he has to leave.  
Along with the passing years come the smell of cigars lingering in the clothes of the king, the newsies have less pennies to spare and the idea of Spot Conlon smiling is not so wild as before.  
Manhattan never gets used to the sight of the king of Brooklyn stepping over to their territory every once in a while, heads still turn, younger boys still bolt out of the way and eyes still narrow, but the king ignores them. He is not there for them after all, Race steps out to meet him, they talk for a moment and together they walk away, sometimes Albert joins them, whenever Spot is in a good mood.  
Manhattan is silent after these rare occasions, questions arise, but no one dares to ask about it.  
…  
“Hiya there, Spotty.”  
“Don’t call me that.”  
“Why not? It’s cute.”  
“Exactly, I ain’t cute.”  
“Oh, but you is. Look at those cheeks.”  
“You have a death wish, Higgins.”  
“Nah, I’m just stating the facts, Risker. Ow! Jesus, Spot, no need for violence.”  
“Then shut your stupid mouth.”  
“Make me.”  
“God damn it Race, I ain’t holding him back, you’s dead.”  
…  
Spot turns fifteen in fall of 1997.  
He’s never told a soul when his birthday is, so he doesn’t expect them to know. He doesn’t want them to know. His birthdays had never been the best before he became a newsie, usually he was home alone and the only thing he would get was a tired smile from his mother when she came home and an extra serving for dinner. Some years had been spent with his grandparents, mostly ignored, except for when he was being screamed at for being there and forced to remain silent until the next morning when he finally got to go home, often with a new bruise forming somewhere in his skin from where strong hands had slapped him.  
His birthday this year, just like the last, is spent selling newspapers all morning, the headline is not too bad, but selling is kind of slow. Once he is done selling he heads over to the races to find Racetrack cheering on the horse he had bet on today. Spot stands next to him and gets a smile from his friend. Spot fishes out a cigar from his pocket and hands it to the other boy, not bothering to keep on with their usual tradition. Racetrack smiles and places the cigar between his mouth, not lighting it yet.  
A few minutes go by and against the odds, Race’s bet wins and the boy laughs as he fills his pockets with money.  
“Would ya’ get a load of this, first time this has happened in years.” Race says, finally lighting his cigar.  
“You got lucky.” Spot says as they walk out.  
Race laughs and then, suddenly, turns to look at the boy next to him.  
“What if you’s the lucky one?” He says excitedly. “The horse was losing until you showed up.”  
Spot rolls his eyes.  
“I’s been with you before.”  
“That’s true. But, never with a cigar. Maybe it’s the cigar, this is a lucky cigar! Some sort of charm.” He looks at said object in his hand.  
“Sure it is.” Spot says, a small smile on his lips.  
“Well, I’s got some extra pennies.” Race shakes his pockets. “Let’s grab some ice cream.”  
“That’s too expensive, Race.”  
“We’ll share. C’mon, it’s a great day.” Race all but skips towards a small ice cream stand.  
…  
“Don’t.” Spot threatens when Race snatches his cane out of his hand and starts using it like a sword, poking Spot on the sides. The ice cream Race had bought for them is gone, they are at a park, resting under the shadows the trees offer.  
Race keeps going.  
“I said stop, Higgins.” Spot snarls.  
“And I ignored you.” Spot ducks the next poke and tackles Race, both boys fall on the ground.  
“You should learn to respect the king, Racer.” Spot smirks.  
“You might be king, but to me you’s only a fourteen-year-old prat.” Race shoves Spot off him.  
“Fifteen.”  
“Yeah, whatever. I’m still older than you.”  
“You sure don’t act like it.”  
When Race laughs after trying to pet a squirrel and having it run towards Spot who lets out a small yelp, Spot decides that that sound is the best gift he could get. And maybe his birthday isn’t so bad, with his best friend by his side, the soft breeze and the sounds of the city around them, the taste of ice cream still on his tongue, maybe his birthday is a good day for once.  
…  
Risker leaves that year, a few weeks before winter.  
“I know the hardest time of the year is coming, but I’se too old to keep selling and this is a good job.”  
“Yeah, it’s alright Risker. I’s glad you’s found somewhere better for you.”  
Spot watches as Risker says goodbye to the other kids, leaving some of the youngest ones close to tears.  
He is happy for Risker, but every day more and more of the newsies he grew up with are forced to leave the lodging house in order to find another job. He’s now one of the older newsies in Brooklyn and he can’t help but wonder what will happen when he is too old to keep selling.  
Will he have to leave? Would his friends still be there with him? Will he still see Race?  
…  
The first time Spot stumbles upon a book is because an old man left it on the bench next to his selling spot. He knows how to read, sure he is not the best, but he had gone to school for a year before his mother got sick and Badger had taught him and Race to read when they were younger, so he might take a little longer than usual but he reads the title “Oliver Twist” and shoves the worn out book into his bag, going back to work.  
As the years pass he begins collecting books, some he has stolen some he has found, and below his mattress in the lodging house there’s a collection of novels of all sorts. From Great Expectations, to Frankenstein, to Pride and Prejudice.  
…  
Race is not one to consider self-preservation when it comes to taking decisions, he jumps directly into the situation life throws at him, no thought goes into it, reckless and careless he flings himself no matter how many dangers it may come with. That’s how he finds himself getting dragged away by the collar by a couple of policemen that had been quick enough to catch him even with his agile feet.  
He is not scared of the bulls, he is terrified of the refuge though, Jack has been there, and Race had seen the bruises in his body when their leader had arrived back at the lodging house after finally managing to escape. He can see a young pair of eyes staring at him, terrified, with all the courage he can muster he gives the kid a wide smile and a wink as the cops pull him away.  
The boy had been very hungry, so much so, that he forgot to steal with care and instead ended up walking down the street with his arms full of loaves of freshly baked bread, Race watched as the cops turned the corner just a few feet away from them and as first instinct he jumped in front of the kid, told him to meet him at the lodging house, took the bread and bolted. His plan had worked, partly, he had managed to get the cops away from the young boy, but his legs had failed him, and he ended up with one of the older men on him and dragging him back.  
The kid is still looking at him when Race decides that there’s no way he’ll get taken to the refuge, so with one last smile he ducks and tries to run again, his feet are quick and he thinks that maybe he’ll make it, but something hits his head and he falls to the ground and there’s the two policemen towering above him, and there’s the sharp pain and the other boy’s screams and begging for them to stop hurting him, and then Race can’t hear and he can’t see them.  
…  
Worry grows within Albert when it’s time for bed and Racetrack hasn’t come back. His friend is often late, but never after bedtime.  
“Hey, Elmer.” He calls the boy next to him. “Have you seen Race?”  
“No, he’s probably out, gambling with them Brooklyn boys. Don’t worry Albo, he’ll be here soon.” The younger boy answers.  
“Yeah, probably.”  
Still, Albert feels like something is wrong, there’s a feeling in his chest, heavy and loaded. The worry only grows with every second, the idea of Race getting in trouble haunts him, the boy is quite prone to finding it after all.  
“Hey, fellas. We have a new kid.”  
Jack stands at the door, his arm around a younger, small boy.  
Some boys approach the boy and shake hands with him, greeting him and welcoming him into their home.  
“How’d ya’ get here?” Blink asks from the other side of the room.  
“Some fella told me to come here.” Romeo says looking around the room. “He said he’d meet me here, but he got taken away by the bulls.”  
Albert’s heart pounds, anyone who might’ve told this kid to come here had to be a newsie, and the only newsie that isn’t here is Race.  
Albert is out the door before anyone can say anything.  
…  
One of Spot’s birds comes running towards him once selling is done, Spot stands as the boy reaches him. This kid is assigned to keep watch on Manhattan.  
“What is it?”  
“I just saw the bulls take him away.” The kid’s breathing is ragged from running all the way here.  
“Who?”  
“Racetrack.”  
Spot’s breathing hitches as he looks at the boy before him, sure, Race was stupid and reckless, but he had never been taken away. His mind rushes as he tries to think of a way to help his friend. He won’t let Race stay in that place, there is no way he is having him go through that, he will do anything that’s in hands to help him, even if it means putting himself at risk. But, he would have to leave Brooklyn, it is not the first time he has had to chose between home and his friend, years ago on that rooftop he had promised Race that he would be wherever he was. And so, he will be.  
“I need to go. Tell Stitches he’s in charge until I get back.”  
And with that the king leaves his throne.  
…  
Closed spaces are not really Race’s favourite, he likes to feel free. A life on the streets makes spending the day anywhere that’s closed off and dull unbearable. He is terrified and when he steps foot into the place that he has to stay in, he is fast to start looking for a way out.  
The hours start to tick by and the only way out he has found is out the window, but he is on the third floor, jumping out would likely end up with injuries and he has to be able to run once he is out. So, he keeps looking, determined to get out. Until he decides to look at the place he is at. There are already two kids resting on the bed he has been told is his, he can hear the rats in the walls and the sound of wheezing as sick lungs try to breathe. And hope abandons him, because it took Jack Kelly a visit from the governor to get out, if the famous Jack Kelly needed help to get out of this god forsaken place how could he even expect to do it himself, if all these kids have been here for weeks and still haven’t found a way out why would he.  
So, he sits on the floor next to the bed and closes his eyes and breathes in a shaky breath. He is resigned, who will even find him, he was all alone when he got taken, nobody around him to come and get him. Thoughts of Spot fill his mind, the king is too busy to even wonder where he is, what if he never sees him again, what if the only thing left are the memories of this boy as he smiles at him.  
His thoughts are interrupted by a hard kick to his ribs and a gruff voice.  
“Your turn, kid.”  
…  
Sunset often finds both young boys on the rooftop. Tangled limbs, fingers brushing through hair, deep talk, blushing cheeks and furtive looks.  
That day night finds Spot Conlon alone on a rooftop.  
When the sun’s gone and the darkness of the night envelops him, and hides him from the eyes of others, he makes his way to the refuge.  
In the dark, he spots a head of burning red hair standing in a corner, waiting. He watches as Albert throws a stone on the opposite direction and sneaks inside when the guards turn away.  
Spot waits, he has never been to the refuge, but he has done his research. The sisters visit daily, around seven. Sure enough, the carriage stops in front of the gates and he runs and jumps into the back as the gates open wide to let them in.  
…  
Race’s body aches as he walks back to the room, cleaning floors is not a pleasant experience, much less when you haven’t eaten all day. He flops onto the floor again, not wanting to occupy even more space on the already crowded bed, his legs tremble and his stomach grumbles and he tries to relax, but he can’t, not with the sounds of all these children, suffering. So, he sits up and smiles one of his well-known grins and takes out the cards that he always carries with him.  
“Anyone wanna play some cards?”  
Three boys that had been previously talking are by his side in a matter of seconds.  
“Anyone else?”  
Nobody answers, so Race shuffles the cards with expertise and starts a game of poker. After one game an older boy joins them, and then another. And soon there is a crowd around them watching as they play. Race lightens the mood, throwing funny comments at the right times and earning small giggles that soon evolve into chuckles, and he wonders how long it’s been since these kids have laughed and had a good time. But, when the first actual laugh fills the room the door bursts open and in a flash Race is alone on the floor and someone is dragging him away by the hair as the other kids watch with fear.  
…  
Albert watches the windows, he remembers the boy’s rooms being on the third-floor form Cowboy’s stories, the trick now is to find the right window and getting a way to reach it. It’s a four-story building and the fire escape is too exposed to climb up without being spotted by the guards.  
There’s a hand on his shoulder and he’s ready to bolt, before he is shoved onto the floor and a hand is over his mouth.  
“Keep quiet.” The king of Brooklyn orders as he stands, offering a hand to help Albert stand up.  
“What are you doing here?”  
“Same thing as you. Any ideas?”  
“Um, not really.”  
“I’m impressed, DaSilva.” The king mocks. “Find a way to the rooftop.”  
“What?”  
Albert looks at him, the king left his throne and his land, he knows he has been Race’s friend for a while and that they care for each other, but the determination on the king’s face as he scouts their surroundings holds something that is so wild it surprises Albert. He can see it, Spot would do anything for Race, even if it meant putting himself at risk.  
Which is exactly what he does.  
“You’ll be able to get to us from there.”  
With that Spot steps out from behind the bushes and begins walking towards the door without a care in the world. He turns around and smiles at Albert.  
“Bring a rope tomorrow by seven, there’ll be a towel or something hanging from out the window.” He says, his voice announcing his presence to the guards, but low enough so that only Albert can understand it. “And bring someone strong with you.”  
Albert hides as Spot begins running away from the guards, but lets himself get caught and locks eyes with Albert, moving his head towards the, now unguarded gates, telling him to leave.  
…  
Race find himself back in the room, body stiff and muscles screaming and bruises blooming in his skin, he walks to his bed, worried looks following him and he smiles widely as every set of eyes falls upon his beat-up form.  
“I’s alright, fellas.” His ribs hurt when he talks, but he ignores the pain. “I’ve had worse.”  
And it’s not a lie, he has had fights that have left him even more hurt, but he always had someone by his side then, a newsie from Manhattan to support his weight as they walked back to the house, Button’s or Crutchie’s hands to help fix him up, Albert’s jokes to make him laugh and Spot’s eyes looking at him with that look that said you’re the biggest idiot ever and a roll of his eyes as he asked if he was alright, a slight hint of worry escaping his cool façade.  
Now he is alone, sure, the room is full beyond its capacity, but he feels alone as ever as he sits on the cold hard floor and rests his head against the hard mattress and allows sleep to drag him away from that place.  
…  
“Race.” He wakes up to a soft poke on his cheek. “Dinner’s here.”  
One of the younger kids stands before him, holding out a hard piece of bread for him to take.  
“Thanks.” Race takes the bread with a smile.  
He is about to take a bite when the sound of coughing reaches his ears and he stops, he turns his head to the corner of the room, there’s a bed pushed as far away as possible and a small person lying covered by some sheets, he stands up as the boy, offering his bread despite the sound his stomach makes.  
“You need to eat more if you want to get better.”  
The boy takes the bread with a small smile and a thank you and Race walks back to his place on the floor. He sits there and looks around, trying to find some way to entertain himself and the other boys when the door opens and in comes the king himself, gaze cold as he is shoved into the room by Snyder.  
“Didn’t think you Brooklyn boys where stupid enough to get caught.”  
“Don’t worry, it won’t be for long.”  
A slap and then the door is closed, and Spot turns to look around the room, his eyes scanning the place and landing on Race as the older boy struggles to stand and walks towards his friend.  
“Racetrack.” He greets, voice calm as ever, but eyes full of rage as the angry red imprint of a hand starts to show on his cheek. Race touches the skin carefully, before hitting Spot in the chest and grabbing him by the collar of his shirt.  
“What the hell are you doing here, Conlon? You’s stupid or what?”  
Spot’s eyes meet Race’s as he calmly disentangles Race’s hands from the fabric of his shirt and meticulously rearranges his suspenders.  
“You’re hurt.” He points out, noticing the Manhattan newsie’s weak grip and his jaw clenching with every movement.  
Race turns around and flops down onto the floor again, taking out his cards from below the mattress and turning his head.  
“Anyone wanna play?” He smiles as some of the kids approach him with hesitant steps. “Don’t worry we’ll keep quiet this time.”  
Spot watches as Race builds up a fake image, as he smiles for the kids that surround him and throws easy-going comments their way, his eyes sparkling whenever he gets a smile or a small giggle in return.  
“Are you Spot Conlon?” A small voice says, tugging at his sleeve. Behind him stands a small boy, not older than ten, big eyes looking at him with mischief.  
“Yes.” Spot answers simply, before turning his head back to the game, only to find Race looking at him.  
“Cowboy was right.” The boy says again and Spot raises an eyebrow. This kid is not a newsie, he would know, which means he meant Jack when he was in the refuge, which was months ago. This kid has been here for months.  
Spot frowns and looks back at the kid.  
“Is that so?”  
“Yeah, you’re not that scary.”  
Spot can hear Race scoff as Spot’s eyebrows shoot up at the comment.  
“He’s a big wuss, Pin.” He hears Race comment, earning a couple of gasps and some chuckles.  
Spot scowls at his friend.  
“Shut up, Higgins.”  
The boy shrugs and goes to sit around the boys that are playing with Race, he leans against one of the bunk beds and watches as he lets the kids win. Race’s smile is genuine as the winners celebrate their victory and Spot can see Race flinch whenever he laughs, but that doesn’t stop the boy from trying to make the others happy.  
Spot pushes himself off the bed when he hears the door open and watches as all the kids run to their place, leaving Race sitting alone with the cards scattered before him, struggling to pick them up before someone sees them and Spot is there picking them up and pushing Race away, maybe a bit too harshly, and dropping a pair of dice onto the boy’s hands with a wink, before Snyder pulls him up by the collar of his shirt and tries to pull him out of the room, but the king escapes the man’s grasp and calmly walks himself to the door.  
“Ain’t you comin’?” He says as Snyder watches him, standing in the same place as before.  
The old man grumbles and shoves the king out, slamming the door behind them.  
…  
Albert arrives at the lodging house by midnight, Crutchie is at the door and frowns when he sees him.  
“What were you thinking?” He says as he uses his crutch to lightly tap Albert’s head.  
The redhead smiles.  
“Sorry, Crutch. Go to bed, we’ll look for him tomorrow morning. Is Jack awake?”  
“Don’t tell me what to do. He’s on the rooftop, him and Specs are trying to think of someway to get him back.”  
Albert climbs up the fire escape to find the leader and Specs in complete silence, looking out into the sky.  
“We’s got nothing.” Specs says, defeated.  
“There ain’t no way to get him out from the third floor.”  
“I’ve got it.” Albert says confidently. “I’ll go get him tomorrow night.”  
“Albert, you have no idea how to reach him.”  
“I’ll take Specs with me.”  
Both boys look at each other.  
“It’s too risky.”  
“Trust me, Jack. He’s my friend, just trust me, please.”  
“What do you need?”  
…  
The king comes back when the sun is already high and shining, he walks into the room, confident and proud as he pulls stuff out of his pockets and starts handing it out.  
“You’ll have to share, I got as much as I could.” He says, giving pieces of bread, potatoes and some apples, one for every bunk bed, but eating twice in a day, even if it’s just a bite, is more than these kids are used to.  
He reaches Race at last, once every bunk has some food, and hands him a piece of bread, watches as he breaks it into pieces and hands it out to the boys he is supposed to share his bed with and stands once he is done, walking to the corner. Spot follows him and watches as a small hand comes out of the sheets to grab the bread, but Spot stops him, taking out one last apple.  
“You need to eat too.” He says pushing Race’s hand away and offering the apple instead.  
…  
The day is hot, too hot and the lack of ventilation coupled with how crowded the room is, makes it almost unbearable.  
Race has moved under the window, trying to get as much fresh air as he can, Spot by his side. They have taken off the extra layers of clothing and Spot’s shirt hangs off the window now.  
“Why are you here, Spot?” Race asks again, this time calmer than the night before.  
“I’ll get you out of here.” Spot shrugs.  
“Getting caught is part of the plan?”  
“Yup.” Spot pops the p.  
“Are you serious?” Race says, angry at Spot’s carelessness.  
“We’ll be out by tonight.”  
Race is glad, sure he is, he can’t wait to get out of this place, but he also knows that Snyder has hurt Spot, there’s no way he would have passed an opportunity like that and as good as the king is at hiding it he knows the bruises won’t take too long too show. Still, when Spot moves to dig into his pocket and his unbuttoned shirt falls off his shoulder he gasps.  
“I managed to get you this, it’s not really good, but-“  
“You’re an idiot, Spot Conlon.” Race stares at the fresh cigarette burn marks on the king’s shoulder that go down to his arm.  
“Just some new additions.” He says pulling up his shirt and slightly brushing the old fading scars over his chest. “Make it worth something.” He hands Race a cigarette.  
Race looks at him, rolling his eyes, but takes the cigarette, relishing in the familiar feeling as it hangs off his lips.  
“I can’t believe, you put yourself at risk like this.”  
“You’s the one who got himself caught first.”  
…  
“How’d they get you anyways?”  
“I was helping a kid, sent him with Jack before the bulls got him and got caught instead.”  
“You’re an idiot.”  
“What? Why?”  
“Seriously, Racetrack?”  
“I was trying to help the kid.”  
“You’s could’ve found a better way, one where you didn’t get caught, because of that kid.”  
“I didn’t have time. Besides, you’s sitting next to me right now.”  
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. The only difference is that I’s got brains, unlike you. I have a way to get out of here.”  
“Oh, shuddup.”  
“You alright?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Liar.”  
…  
Albert makes his way to the refuge, followed close behind by Specs and Bumlets. Once they reach the building Specs leads the way, showing them the way to the roof.  
“Jack and I come here every now and then, we bring food for the kids.” He explains.  
Once they are on the roof Albert hands the rope to Bumlets, who anchors his feet to the ledge of the roof as Albert ties the rope around his waist.  
Spot rolls his eyes as he sees the quick flash of red and hears a grunt.  
“I shoulda’ got Brooklyn to do this.” He says as Race rushes to the window looking down to find Albert hanging from a rope and struggling to reach the windowsill.  
“Higher, c’mon Bumlets.”  
“Shut up.” Spot hisses.  
“They are here.” Albert smiles.  
“What are you doing here?” Race asks reaching out to take his friend’s hand and pull him up.  
Albert grins up at him.  
“Hiya.” He says. “We’re here to get you out, of course.”  
“Are you stupid? You wanna get caught too?” Race says, annoyed by his friends’ lack of caring.  
“Well, come with us, then we can leave before we get caught.”  
“How am I supposed to go?”  
Albert holds out the rope with a smile.  
“I had it all planned out, Spot’s my assistant.”  
“Shut up.” The king repeats.  
Race looks at Albert’s hand, holding out the only chance to get out that he might get, and he grabs it without thinking twice and when Albert is up on the roof again he ties the rope around his waist and climbs out the window, Bumlets and Albert pull him up and help him to his feet as they let down the rope again to get Spot out. And it’s that easy and Specs gets them out and soon they are safe.  
…  
Race tries to keep up, ignoring the pain in his limbs as he begins to run and trying not to look back, because he is selfish, and he knows that there’s all those kids, still inside and with no one to get them out, but he is now running away, fresh air filling his lungs and it’s only been two days but it feels as though it has been months and he is next to Spot Conlon, who he stays alive for but who also keeps him alive.  
…  
Jack tells Race to take a couple of days off.  
Race heads to Brooklyn, hoping that Spot will let him sell.  
Spot tells Race to take a week off.  
…  
Brooklyn is a disaster when Spot comes back, Stitches is good at keeping control, but not even he can stop the questions that arise. After all, the king had just left his throne to go find a newsie from another borough, Racetrack isn’t one of his, he might sell in Sheepshead, but he is under Kelly’s leadership.  
So, Spot tries his best to intimidate and stop the questions from coming, but it’s hard to do so, even being the mighty Spot Conlon, and a couple of days after his return, he is cornered by some of the older boys as Fluff tells him about her time over at The Bronx.  
“Get out, Fluff.” The girl looks at them.  
“You’s no one to tell me what to do.” She answers and resumes her report.  
Spot looks at the guys and smiles at Fluff.  
“Come back later, bring Hunter and Lace with ya’”  
She rolls her eyes and glares at the two boys as she leaves.  
“What do you want?” Spot asks, standing up and pulling out one of the books he had managed to steal, and was currently reading, from below the mattress.  
“We was here when Fox died.” One of them answers.  
Spot’s face darkens as he looks at both guys.  
“So?”  
“We remember.” They explain. “There was no reason for you to kill Fox. In fact, you was one of his favourites, but suddenly he’s dead.”  
“You’s going anywhere?”  
“And then Racetrack was gone.”  
Spot looks at them frowning.  
“You was with him that night and you’s always been very close. And now you leave Brooklyn for a day to go save his ass.”  
“You have to understand how suspicious that is.”  
“What are you implying, Ghost?” Spot’s hands are tightly balled into fists now.  
“People back then said you was a fag, I didn’t think so. Don’t give us reason to believe it.”  
Spot is so angry, this was in the past, this is supposed to be long gone and forgotten, he had fought his way to the top, stopping any rumours that had begun to spread before they could be used against him and still here he is all those years later, fighting to stop something that he can’t help. Fighting to stop people from knowing that he is sick and wrong and that something must have gone wrong with him and maybe he is cursed, because he knows now that what he feels is not right, but he can’t help it, he has done enough already by treating Race the same as he treats his other friends, even though god knows how much he longs for the boy’s touch and how can something that feel so right be so wrong.  
His anger shows the next morning, in the form of bruised knuckles and two newsies having learnt to respect their king.  
…  
Routine is a part of every newsie’s life, they need to follow it in order to make it through the day. They must wake up early every day, be at the gates before the bell rings, get their papers and sell at the same spot they stand in day after day. So, it’s not a surprise when the boys get bored and decide to have some fun.  
As a result of this boredom, Race currently stands before Jack with a smirk, the leader of the Manhattan newsies is on his way to meet Smalls and talk about The Bronx and Manhattan relationships, boring stuff that Race loves to have fun with. The leader looks at him questioningly, untrusting of the boy’s ever mischievous grin.  
“I bet you’se wouldn’t dare tell Smalls that Spot is a better leader than her.”  
Jack scoffs.  
“I don’t have a death wish.”  
“Oh, c’mon Cowboy. Don’t tell me you’se scared of a girl.”  
“Have you seen Smalls?”  
Race grins.  
“This wouldn’t be as fun if I didn’t know her.”  
“I’ll tell her she’s better than Queens.”  
“Nah, ‘s gotta be Spot, they hate each other.”  
“Spot’s not that great, your crush is showing.”  
“What?”  
“Woah, I’m just kidding.”  
“Oh, um, will you do it?”  
“What do I get in return?”  
“I’ll give you a quarter.”  
“Deal.”  
…  
Jack Kelly walks around New York for the next few days with a split lip and new suspenders.  
…  
Spot is walking back to the lodging house when he hears a soft whimper coming from a dark alleyway to his left, he listens closely and can hear the soft sound of breathing coming from inside. Intrigued, he enters the alley, it’s dark, but he can make out the silhouettes of trash bins and bags, he has found boys hiding in alleys before and he usually offers them a place with his boys, just asking for loyalty in return.  
He is startled when he feels something wet touch his ankle and he is ready to attack, but standing next to him is a small dog looking up and wagging his tail. He crouches next to it and extends his hand, the dog cowers at first, but hesitantly, it smells the boy’s hand, Spot scratches its head and looks around.  
“So, looks like you’s all alone in the world, huh?”  
The dog is small enough to carry, so carefully Spot lifts him up and walks out of the alley, he has no idea of what he is doing, but he keeps on walking and hides the dog under his shirt once he reaches the lodging house.  
…  
“Mitchell said she can’t stay, so I just need ya’ to take care of her until I can think of some way to fool the old man.”  
“Sure, Jack and I can keep her. She won’t be much trouble on the rooftop.”  
“You’s going to take care of the beast, Crutch. There ain’t no way I’s sleeping with it.”  
“But, it’s so cuute, Cowboy. We should get one.”  
“You’s already got Romeo to follow you around, Race.”  
“Hey! I ain’t no dog!”  
…  
Ashes, as Race named her, is soon a member of the Brooklyn newsies. The Brooklyn kids adopt her and feed her after Spot trains her to sleep outside the house and wait for him. She keeps him company while he sells and keeps watch of the kids that get sick.  
…  
He can hear his newsies talking about the headline, a murder, those are good for business. He smiles reassuringly at one of the younger kids as he makes his way towards the front in order to read the headline himself.  
It is written in big bold letters.  
Man killed by officers.  
And that’s not bad, not bad at all, in fact it is, as the newsies around him exclaim, great news.  
But then there’s the details underneath, the lead that reveals the truth behind the headline.  
Two officers found the man in the company of another man, this lead the police to chase them, one of them escaped, but the other found justice by the hands of this policemen.  
Ghost and Dime are feet away from him and he swears he can see them looking over at him and it’s already been months since their argument, but Spot remembers every detail and he is sure they do too.  
And he can’t breathe, the air is too heavy. And this can’t be happening, and he is scared, terrified and alone.  
Oh, he’s so alone.  
And he thinks of the boy, the boy who is probably making his way to his territory, the boy with the ever-present smirk and that mischievous gleam in his eyes.  
He thinks of him and it hurts.  
It hurts because he’s so much to him, so much and they could be dead because of that and they might be killed if they ever act upon it.  
And he wonders what is wrong with him.  
And he knows that it’s that he is in love, he is in love with another boy. He is in love with his best friend, and it’s a sin and it’s disgusting and it’s not right.  
So, he won’t say, not to the world, that would be too risky, it would mean death. So, he will kill that part of him. The part of him that is putting their lives in danger, the part of him that is wrong and disturbed.  
…  
Race is too stubborn, so when Spot pushes him away he refuses to beg for the king’s attention, instead he responds by giving the king what he wants. Full of rage and hurt, he stops visiting the lodging house after selling and instead he crosses over to the other boroughs more often than before, and starts spending his time in Midtown instead.  
…  
Spot Conlon is not one to do feelings, he keeps away from them as much as he can. They are overcomplicated and difficult, so instead he avoids them as much as he can. Still, sometimes he can’t help it.  
Tonight, is one of those times.  
He’s sitting in bed and watching as a couple of his boys play a game of cards on the floor a few feet away from him when it hits him. He can’t name it at first.  
The feeling crushes his insides, his heart aches, his hands feel empty and his side too cold.  
And he realises, he misses Race.  
It’s only been a month, but it is probably one of the hardest things he has had to do in years.  
…  
He climbs onto the fire escape and finds Albert standing in front of the window.  
“What are you doing here?”  
“Why are you awake?”  
“Sleep’s not really my thing, will you answer my question now?”  
“Is Race here?”  
“Not an answer, but close enough.” And with that Albert walks towards Race’s bed and shakes him, trying not to wake up Blink who sleeps above him.  
Race complains but begrudgingly makes his way to the window, rubbing his eyes, he frowns when he sees Spot and turns around, starting to walk to his bed, but Spot takes him by the arm before he can get too far.  
“Please, let’s talk.”  
Race ponders for a while and Spot is ready to be rejected, but Race climbs out the window and sits on the fire escape.  
“It better be worth it.”  
…  
The moon is the only one who listens as they talk and she’s the only witness to the words that float through the silence of the night. They know, but they don’t say it, Spot asking if he remembers Fox is enough for Race to understand what it is that they are dealing with and the anger he had felt before abandons him immediately, he agrees, but Spot is so close and once they are done with words the younger boy doesn’t leave, but stays next to him, shoulders brushing. This is probably the last time they’ll do this and none of them wants to let it end, but soon it’ll be light and Spot has a kingdom to rule and they must stay alive for each other and keep each other alive, even if it means staying apart.  
…  
“You have bewitched me body and soul.”  
“What?”  
“Nothing, just something I read.”  
“Hm.”  
And I love, I love. I love you.  
…  
The first rays of sunlight find Race still sitting on the fire escape, Albert the comforting shoulder once again.

**Author's Note:**

> So I don't really know where this is going, some parts of this were inspired by headcanons I found. It's going somewhere I promise, I just have to figure it out.  
> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed, leave kuddos and comment if you did!  
> Hmu on tumblr @donttakemuchtobeadreamer


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